Yellow Light
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "So he does what you're supposed to do at a yellow light. He proceeds with caution." {lyatt post-S1 oneshot; definitely read the author's note just in case!} (TFP)


_Ummm so this is a fill for BONUS CRACK PROMPT #2: Sex Pollen ... and I don't even know who I am anymore..._

 _(probably a borderline M fic but John Green writes about this stuff and sells it as YA fiction, right? And FYI this is not all-out smut, so don't get too excited)_

 _Thanks Timeless Fanfic Prompts for being so super cool & generous with this contest :) _

* * *

Something is wrong with her. Way wrong. It's like a blaring alarm going off in his head, but he stuffs it down until they're in the clear. What choice does he have? She isn't injured, she's just...spacey? A little out to lunch? And that in and of itself is too dangerous in their line of work to be ignored, but there's nothing he can really do until they get out of Chicago. Between fighting back against the constant onslaught of Emma's thugs and dodging the raging violence surrounding the antiwar protests, he's understandably a bit too swamped to pull Lucy aside for a pep talk. It will happen, he'll be damn sure of that, but it will have to wait until they've escaped the vicious turbulence of 1968.

She closes her eyes as soon as they're seated in the Lifeboat, giving off a substantial shiver as he brushes over her bare arm on his way to her seat belt.

"Lucy? You okay?"

With eyes still firmly shut, she responds between gritted teeth, "I think I have a fever."

He touches her forehead automatically, and she flinches backward but there's nowhere for her to go. Her skin is definitely warmer than usual beneath his fingers, but after spending an entire day surrounded by steel and concrete under an unrelenting August sun, he knows that his skin is overheated too. The wardrobe department would probably be better off just burning his clothes from this jump instead of trying to launder them.

"We'll get you checked out at medical, okay?"

She doesn't answer, but she does grab his hand as he's withdrawing, clasping it between both of hers with startling tenacity. There's a pronounced tremor in her arms, and he's numb at the thought of this being far worse than a plain old fever. He glances sideways to see if Rufus has been listening, and the unnerved confusion in his teammate's eyes seals the deal. Wyatt isn't imagining this. Something is _way_ wrong.

The Lifeboat rumbles to life and she drops his hand, tilts her head back against the headrest, and bites her bottom lip so fiercely that Wyatt fears it will bleed. His hands are on autopilot as soon as the rattling chaos of time travel slows to a grating stop. He unbuckles his harness, does the same for hers, and pulls her to her feet as fast as he can. She shudders again, then presses her body tightly into his.

His eyebrows jump skyward. Did she just... _moan_?

Wyatt seeks Rufus' eyes again, but this time the third member of their team is grinning wickedly and won't meet his eyes. When he's sure that Rufus will be of no help to his cause, he pries Lucy off of himself and speaks past the hitch in his throat.

"Uh, Lucy?"

Her gaze is sleepy, but everything else is tense - her jaw, her mouth, her shoulders - like she's ready to snap in half with the pressure of whatever it is that's going on with her. "Hmm?"

"We're gonna get you some help, alright? Let me give you a hand down."

She nods, eyes blank and arms shaking.

Wyatt slides down onto the awaiting step stool, feels the expectant gazes of Agent Christopher and Jiya as he descends, but Lucy is already tumbling out of the time machine behind him and he has no opportunity to address the rest of the team before he's scrambling to catch her.

"Sorry," Lucy mumbles, her face nestling against the side of his neck. "Couldn't wait."

"Don't worry about it."

He cradles her closely to himself, one arm around her back and the other scooping beneath her knees, already on his way to the medical bay without waiting for permission from anyone else around him. He tosses an explanation backward, telling instead of asking, because he's far too weirded out about Lucy to care about his reputation at the moment. "She needs to see a doctor - I don't know what's wrong, but she isn't acting like herself."

He doesn't notice what she's doing at first. He's already a little too aware of how it feels to have her tucked into him like this, and his brain is preoccupied with the task of running through each moment of their jump to the '60s, trying to isolate when and where this behavior had started. But she's persistent and the awareness of what's happening creeps through his abstraction like a stinging sunburn.

Her lips are deliberately dusting across the pulse point on his neck. And her hand...her hand is unbuttoning the top button on his shirt.

"Lucy? What the - "

She freezes, then frantically wriggles out of his arms and lands on her feet rather unsteadily. "I'm so sorry. I don't - I can't - "

With a shake of her head, she backs away from Wyatt like a frightened animal, eyes rounded and features contorted as if she's in pain.

"Hey, it's okay," he says soothingly, palms upturned and voice imploring. "I'm not mad, I'm just worried about you. Come on, it's okay. Let's go - "

In two long strides, her body collides with his. There's no warning or preamble. Her mouth is on him, hungry and demanding, taking no prisoners as she kisses him senseless right there in the middle of a random Mason Industries hallway. His back hits the wall and his hands latch onto her hips for some point of balance. Instinct takes over and his mouth opens to her insistent tongue. He's groaning, arching along with her as she pushes and pulls, craving the friction of her body with more enthusiasm than he could ever put into words.

They haven't kissed since Arkansas, and it's not for a lack of wanting to on his part, but he hasn't quite been able to justify it to himself yet. Their lives are an unequivocal mess. Wyatt has only recently allowed himself to see a life beyond the barriers of grief and vengeance, and while his new perspective is a direct result of his developing feelings for Lucy, he still hasn't been able to take that next step with her. She's beyond burnt out, exhausted both physically and emotionally, keeping herself adrift on nothing but empty fumes from one jump to the next.

And it's not like there's been zero progress, necessarily. It's clear that they care for each other beyond the roles of teammates or friends. They spend almost all of their free time together, regularly crash on each other's couches - or even beds, sometimes - when the hour is late and they're in no rush to part ways, share meals and hugs and even the occasional bout of laughter when the harrowing stress of the job finally gives way to mild hysteria. He knows that everyone talks about them - Rufus, Jiya, even Agent Christoper and Connor Mason, as well as basically everyone else on Mason's payroll - but Wyatt doesn't pay it any mind. It will happen when it happens, right?

But all of that patient repression has apparently built into an entire storehouse of sexual dynamite, because Wyatt is experiencing an otherworldly torrent of attraction that refuses to be tamed. This is nothing like that kiss from 1934. That kiss had been sparks.

This kiss - the one in the here and now - is like making out with an electrical outlet in a thunderstorm. Lucy claws at his back, his scalp, his chest. Her teeth clink against his. She's making a noise that resembles the mewling of a newborn kitten and the sound of it is doing terrible things to his gutter-bound mind.

It's only once he hears a distinct clicking coming down the corridor that he comes back to himself. Wyatt slams on the brakes like a car speeding toward an unexpected red light, hurriedly shoving Lucy away from him and then grabbing for her wrist in desperation when he realizes he's shoved her hard enough to send her reeling backwards on faltering heels.

As soon as he makes contact with the insanely soft skin of her inner wrist, she's lunging toward him again.

"No," he pants out precariously, his other hand bracing her shoulder to hold her back. He can feel raw heat radiating off of her even through the material of her dress. "No, someone's com - "

Agent Christopher appears before he can finish that statement, looking puzzled and just a tad angry. "I thought something was wrong with Lucy. What are you two waiting for?"

It's all Wyatt can do to keep himself from flinging Lucy toward her in a total panic and running for the hills. "You take her. I - I need a minute."

He senses the look of betrayal that Lucy is sending his way, but he doesn't meet her gaze. He's too confused, and more accurately, too ashamed to face her now.

"Alright," Denise concedes warily, "but we will be debriefing before the two of you leave tonight. Don't take off in the meantime."

He nods but doesn't look up again until the sound of their retreating footsteps has evaporated into the maze of the rambling compound, safely out of range from him and his furious heartbeat. Wyatt shakes his head once, but he still feels nothing but flames everywhere she's touched him. He races for the men's changing area, sheds his period clothing in seconds, and douses himself with an icy shower until he feels like a functioning human again.

But as he pulls on his jeans and ducks into a clean t-shirt, there's a snake-like voice in his head that begs to see Lucy _now_ , to have her wrapped around him again, to go back and take her right there on an unassuming wall in the labyrinth of Mason Industries.

He paces up one side of the locker room and back again. Stops, inhales. Exhales. Stares at himself in the mirror, and recoils at his reflection. His pupils are abnormally dilated. His face is already beginning to flush with heat again. His chest is tight. So are his pants.

"I am in some kind of crazy deep shit," he admits begrudgingly to no one but himself.

Wyatt takes the stairs two at a time on his way to the medical bay. He glides past the first closed door, then pauses to listen. It's Agent Christopher and Doctor Briggs talking in there, but he can't concentrate on what they're saying. It slips through his brain like water in a sieve. The second closed door has no sound coming from inside, and he furtively turns the handle with a strange nervous energy churning through him.

Lucy sits atop the lone examination table, still in her brightly patterned dress from the jump, heels discarded and feet swinging anxiously. She's biting her lip and the air around her seems to be vibrating with invisible tension. Her whole body twitches as she flicks her eyes up to the doorway. Everything comes to a halt when she sees him. She's as static as a portrait, no more biting or swinging or twitching.

Green light.

They meet halfway, Lucy hopping down and crashing into his arms once he throws the door closed and makes a mad dash for her. He lifts her back onto the table and thrusts himself between her legs. She hums against his mouth before yanking his shirt up and over his head. He hates breaking the kiss for even a moment but the reward is certainly worth the sacrifice. Her long, slender fingers - fingers he's now picturing wrapped around him a bit further south - are scraping over his torso and it's making him delirious. His muscles jump and contract as she explores his chest. His palms curve against her knees and drift upward to caress her thighs, dragging the hem of her dress up higher and higher until it's bunched around her waist and he can -

The door flies open with such force that it might have just dented the wall behind it.

Another damn red light.

Wyatt wrenches Lucy's dress back into place with lightning reflexes, but they're still sunk. He's essentially been caught with his pants down, and he knows he should feel guilty for letting himself get carried away like this, but the twinge of embarrassment can't compete with the screaming arousal that echoes through his veins.

And then he glances down belatedly, making sure that his pants aren't _actually_ down. Nope, still got that covered.

For now.

"Master Sergeant Logan, please have a seat on the other side of the room."

Agent Christopher's tone doesn't leave any space for argument, and goddammit, he's never had an issue with taking a simple order because that's his frickin' job, but the idea of being that far from Lucy spurs an unwieldy dose of defiance.

He keeps a hand on Lucy's knee as he turns to address the other two women who've unfortunately chosen to enter the room. "With all due respect, I - "

"I'm not bluffing, Wyatt. Get your ass over there before I call security. And put your shirt on while you're at it."

A tiny shred of clarity, along with a much grander sense of mortification, settles over him. He does as he's told, snatching his shirt from the floor and dropping into a chair that's positioned about as far across the room as possible. His hands begin to shake and all the self-discipline in the world can't bring them into submission. "What...what's happening to me?"

The doctor steps forward with sympathy and concern shining in her expression. "We ran a sample of Lucy's blood. She's ingested an unknown toxin, something that's unlike anything I've ever studied before. The effects are...well, it's like a ramped-up combo of a stimulant - possibly pure amphetamine - and an unbelievably potent aphrodisiac."

A choked noise sounds from the doorway. Wyatt glares upward, finding a bug-eyed Rufus standing there with his hands clasped together maniacally.

"Sex pollen? You guys have been contaminated with 1960s _sex pollen_?! No way. No freaking way."

"What the hell is sex pollen?" Wyatt growls. "That's not a real thing, is it?"

The doctor looks about as mystified as he feels. "Well...I don't know what else to call it, but whatever it is, we'll have to take precautions to - "

"No, this is - " he stands up hastily, then abruptly sits back down, clenching his fists over his knees. "Look, I didn't drink or eat anything weird. I barely ate or drank anything _at all_. This is total bull - "

"I did," Lucy murmurs quietly, her dark eyes sweeping over Wyatt with a hazy look of longing that sends fire straight to his groin. "Well, it wasn't something that I ate or drank, but I walked through this weird smoke...or a mist? I don't know. It was after the protesters had started to break up and I didn't think twice about whatever it was. I just wanted out of there."

Wyatt rises once more, then promptly sits his ass back down again. "When? Where was - "

"You were both across the street. I sneezed, walked past it, moved on. We had more important things to do than discuss a random cloud of God-knows-what that was lingering out on the streets." She shrugs with a deep breath inward. "It was the '60s, remember? Not exactly a cause for alarm."

Rufus is barely holding back a guffaw of laughter, which gets cut off with one stern eyebrow from Agent Christopher.

Doctor Briggs scribbles something down on her clipboard with a frown. "And afterwards? How long did it take to feel the effects?"

"I don't know, twenty minutes...maybe half an hour. I felt kind of dizzy and lightheaded. And warm." Lucy's voice plunges lower and Wyatt can see her toes curling up from across the room. "Way too warm."

"Jesus," he exhales with a pang of physical need that actually hurts. He covers his face with one hand and arranges the other arm strategically across his lap. "So what, Doc? It's contagious then? Because I was fine until we got back here."

"I can't answer that for sure without further testing, but it's fair to assume that any exchange of bodily fluids - "

"Like swapping spit?" Rufus suggests gleefully.

Agent Christopher sighs, pointing an incontestable finger out toward the hall. "I think that's enough, Rufus. Go home. Debrief can wait until tomorrow."

"I know _someone_ in this room who really needs to de-brief himself."

" _Rufus_!"

Wyatt grins in spite of himself at the sound of all three females tearing Rufus a new one for that. And yeah...de-briefing sounds like a phenomenal idea from where he's sitting, so who can argue with the guy?

"Okay, okay," Rufus surrenders with a sneaky smile. "But before I go, I just have to know - are you planning to just let the two of them finally go at it for hours until the sex pollen wears off?"

"Rufus. Home. _Now_."

Agent Christopher practically slams the door on him as he exits, but Wyatt doesn't miss the look of quandary on her face as she turns back to them. She clearly has no idea what happens next, and a very poisonous corner of his soul wishes that they could just go with Rufus's proposed solution.

In the end, it's nothing nearly as gratifying as that. They haul him off to another room in the exact opposite corner of the facility and lock him away like a criminal, even going as far as posting an Agent from Homeland at the door in case he really loses his mind and tears the hinges off the door. He examines his holding cell with an affronted scoff. They've supplied him with a thin roll-up mattress, a few granola bars, bottled water, a box of tissues, and a trash can. Nothing could be more truly pathetic than this.

But then he closes his eyes and sees the pale skin of Lucy's parted thighs, and he experiences a reluctant gratitude for those damn tissues.

When he wakes up the next morning, his head aches and his mouth is weirdly dry. He forces himself upward on heavy limbs and cringes at the array of x-rated images that flutter through his subconscious. _Dreams_. He had a shitload of frustrating sex-crazed dreams, all starring one beautiful brunette professor.

Oh God, he wouldn't be able to look Lucy in the eyes for days...weeks, even.

The sudden scrape of the lock flipping sideways garners his attention, and he prepares himself for another round of humiliation from whomever awaits him on the other side of that door, anticipating either a disappointed Denise Christopher or the pitying gaze of Doctor Briggs.

Nothing could have prepared him for _her_ , though.

"Hey," Lucy whispers scratchily, a jittery hand tugging through her unruly head of curls. "I - I wanted to talk to you first, before...um, before - "

"Before they descend on us like we're rats in a cage?"

She lets out a fizzy little laugh, pulling the door shut behind her. "Yeah. Before that."

He tries to laugh along with her but nothing comes out. The carnal drone of his greedy desire is nothing like it had been the night before, but he's not surprised to find that he still wants her all the same. His dreams from the prior night may have been ridiculously amplified due to the mystery drug in his system, but the general concept of dreaming about Lucy between the sheets..? Yeah, not exactly a new event for him.

"I..." she stares down at the floor, both hands jammed into the pockets of her sweatpants that she'd changed into at some point after Wyatt had been escorted away from her. "I, uh, wanted to apologize - "

Her words trail off at his disbelieving snort.

"Lucy, c'mon," he says with a sparse attempt at a smirk. "What could you possibly be apologizing for? You were infected without knowing it. Not your fault."

Her cheeks redden but she keeps her gaze averted from him. "Throwing myself at you, though? That could have been avoided. I gave this thing to you and - "

"And I would have been jealous as all hell if you had given it to anyone else."

"You..." she finally looks up, and he's grateful to see that her eyes are clear and familiar, completely free from the fog of last night's delirium. "You're really not mad? And you mean that? About being jealous..?"

He gives her a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. "Well, yeah. I definitely would have been pissed if you gave your sex pollen virus to Rufus instead of me. Unless..." a horrifying thought occurs to him, and he desperately tries to pass it off a joke even if it sticks as it comes out, "um, unless, you actually would have jumped anyone with a pulse and I was just the closest - "

"No," she breaks in emphatically. "Total tunnel vision. I - I wasn't interested in anyone else."

An agonizing silence hangs over the room then, and Wyatt has the misfortune of witnessing the exact moment that she notices the arrangement of his mattress, the tissue box next to it, and the convenient trash can just an arm's length away from his miserable excuse for a bed.

He clears his throat, the action coming out awkwardly loud in the otherwise quiet room. "Uh, yeah...so I maybe had a bad case of tunnel vision too, and when you pair that with a terribly corrupt imagination...let's just say that I didn't plan on you seeing any of this... "

She holds up an absolving hand. "Say no more, Wyatt. I - I wouldn't ask you not to...not to, um - "

"So does that mean you did it too?"

Lucy sputters in response, both hands flying to her face. "You did not just ask me that. Tell me you did not just ask me that."

His smirk comes far more genuinely this time. "Sorry. I just wouldn't want you to still be...suffering, ya know?"

She swivels away from him with nothing but a few mumbled curse words.

"Lucy," he calls gently, creeping up behind her before he can think any better of it. "Less than 12 hours ago we were dry humping in a public hallway. I think we should be able to discuss the very normal, ordinary topic of - "

"No," she confesses almost inaudibly, "no, I did not. I refrained. There, now you know."

Her hand flocks toward the doorknob, but he isn't letting her run off after that admission.

"Hey, not so fast."

His hands are on her waist, turning her around slowly, using all of the concern and attention that had been absent the last time he'd touched her. His fingers nudge beneath her jaw, bringing her face upward toward his. She feels soft and cool against his skin. She feels like Lucy.

"There's no way that you just slept all that off without a little... _discomfort_. I'm willing to help you out," he suggests carefully, "but only on your terms. You tell me to stop and I stop. No questions asked."

She watches him impassively, eerily unblinking for far too long, before glancing down at the hand that's still resting against her slim waistline. "Help me out as what, exactly? A coworker? A friend? A - "

"As a guy who is well over his damn head in feelings for you. A guy who would be more than happy to make this relationship official starting now. Or whenever you want it if now isn't - "

"Now would be good with me," she answers in a voice that's sure and strong, richer than velvet.

Wyatt grins widely and bends just fractionally to kiss her. It's sweet and slow, but the passion isn't lagging far behind, flaring up inside of him a little brighter with each passing second that they stay locked around each other. There's a flourishing fire in her eyes once he breaks the kiss, like the molten chocolate of a summer s'more, and he's sure of what she wants even if she isn't going to ask for it herself.

"Tell me," he murmurs with their foreheads pressing together, "give me the word and I'm here at your service, ma'am."

The phrasing of his offer instantly brings a smile to her face, and she nods little by little, allowing her body to relax into his. "Okay. I trust you."

As always, that word falling from her lips - _trust_ \- bolsters something inside of him that feels better than any high, any endorphin, any wacky sex drug. He knows that he's earned that trust painstakingly, and that she's undoubtedly earned the same from him about a million times over too.

It's not quite a green light she's giving him, but it's certainly not a red light either. So he does what you're supposed to do at a yellow light. He proceeds with caution.

Wyatt finds the drawstring on her sweatpants and untangles it with ease. He kisses her again and guides her backwards until she's trapped between him and the nearest wall. His mouth slides downward over her neck, provoking one of those kitten-like sounds that's been haunting him for hours. He keeps his hand outside of her sweatpants, kneading gently over the fabric until her hips begin jolting forward into his experimental touch.

"More?" he asks against her neck.

"Please," she breathes back with her nails raking into his hair.

He moves past the boundary of her waistband and smiles at the pent-up breath that comes whooshing out of her as soon as he's found his target.

"So we can do this the fast way or - "

"Fast, Wyatt," she huffs against his ear. "Please, for the love of God, do not drag this out. It's been long enough."

"There she is," he teases with a gruff chuckle. "I've been waiting for that bossy know-it-all to show up and - "

Lucy - rocking into his hand and breathing rapidly already - snags his lower lip between her teeth before hissing back at him. "Shut up and do something more productive with your mouth, please."

"Only because you asked so politely."

And he's a man of his word, so he honors her wishes without any qualms, eagerly bringing her to the brink of release as quickly as he can manage - and that's pretty damn quick considering her current predicament. Right as he senses her hovering at the edge, knees quaking and eyelids fluttering, he brushes his lips over her ear and coaches her right through the fall. "Let it go, Luce. I've got you, baby."

Her body buckles into him with a muffled cry. He sweeps kiss after kiss to her hair, her temple, her cheek, her mouth. His arms remain around her, keeping her propped up against the wall as she rides out each seamless surge of pleasure until she reaches the end at long last. Her head collapses limply into his shoulder and he eases the both of them to the floor, folding her into his lap and holding her close.

"I took it easy on you this time, babydoll, but just wait until I'm the one calling the shots..." he drops a tender kiss to the crown of her head. "It's gonna rock your whole damn world."

She hums sleepily against his chest. "Looking forward to it."

He runs his fingertips along the outline of her spine and smiles as she snuggles even further into him. "Same here."

"Hey, Wyatt?"

He glances down, seeing nothing but contentment stamped into her slack features. "Yeah, Lucy?"

"We're never telling anyone this story for as long as we live. Sex pollen is not what got us together. Understood?"

"Sure," he says with a grin. "We'll just tell all of our acquaintances that we fell for each other thanks to all of the time traveling we did together. That will go over better anyway."

"Oh yeah, sure, the time traveling," she answers with a roll of her eyes. "Good one. Very believable."

He just shrugs, wraps her up in a tighter embrace, and allows his words from long ago to come bouncing back to him with a twist of sentimental amusement. "What did I tell you at the beginning, Luce? We'll make it up as we go."

With a happy sigh, she closes her eyes and nods her agreement. "Deal. We make it up as we go."


End file.
